


A Warm Hearth and a Warmer Welcome

by marrrow



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, M/M, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Nerfed ENG Haurchefant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marrrow/pseuds/marrrow
Summary: Coerthas is not a warm climate, and Dietrich Faust is not a warm man. But the cold is no match for Haurchefant Greystone, a man whose heart burns hot like a furnace and whose own radiant warmth could dispel even the bitterest chill; and Dietrich has a seat right at the fireside—whether or not he realizes it.He might just have to catch fire first.--A survey of Dietrich’s relationship with Haurchefant, from unremarkable beginning to untimely end; rating will change as the story progresses.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 8





	A Warm Hearth and a Warmer Welcome

Night had already settled over Coerthas as they arrived in Camp Dragonhead, and Dietrich knew better than to expect a warm welcome.

"Good evening," he announced as he strode across the room, head held high and radiating the absolute confidence of someone who had never once worried about doing or saying the wrong thing. He came to a stop before the massive wooden desk stationed against the eastern wall, and his tone was cool and polite, his face drawn in solemn, frosty neutrality, as he regarded the Elezen sat behind it. "I am Dr. Dietrich Faust, and this is Puck Hardluck. We are looking for a Lord Haurchefant Greystone."

The man behind the desk glanced from Dietrich to Puck and back again. His eyes seemed alight with an interest Dietrich felt ill-suited an Ishgardian, and a smile curved his lips—something a little opaque that Dietrich struggled to parse, but not ingenuine in its sentiment. "And you have found him," he said, in a warm, friendly tone, his smile stretching a little wider. "But pray, be at ease, my friend—I am not one to stand on formality, and I am ever glad to receive brave souls like yourselves.” He waved his hand airily, as if to dismiss the very expectation of stiff politesse. “How may I be of service?”

Dietrich blinked at him in surprise. Lord Francel had assured him that Lord Haurchefant was an amiable man, but Dietrich honestly hadn’t quite believed him; what he’d heard and very recently _experienced_ had suggested that he shouldn’t expect too much of whatever passed for amiability in Ishgard.

Still, amiability was not _Dietrich’s_ forte, either, and despite Lord Haurchefant’s dismissal of formality, Dietrich nevertheless offered him a polite little bow. “It is a pleasure, Lord Haurchefant—we apologize for calling at such a late hour.” He slipped his hand into the interior pocket of his jacket, withdrawing the letter of introduction he had received at Skyfire Locks earlier that evening. They were lucky that Lord Haurchefant didn’t retire from his post with the setting sun, or they would have been left waiting until morning. “We come on the recommendation of Lord Francel of House Haillenarte,” he explained as he extended the letter to Lord Haurchefant with another polite dip of his head. “We are seeking access to the astrological records housed at the Observatorium south of here, and he suggested that we might request the endorsement of House Fortemps to strengthen our petition.”

Lord Haurchefant hummed and reached across to accept the letter. He slid his thumb under the lip of the page, neatly breaking the wax seal bearing the imprint of House Haillenarte, and unfolded it to read. A fire blazed in the massive hearth set into the north wall, casting flickering orange light against one side of his face, while the candlelight from the iron chandeliers overhead softened the edges of the shadows on his other side. Dietrich watched his eyes move from one side to the other as he read, and waited patiently for him to finish.

But now that Dietrich had the space to let his mind wander, it occurred to him just how tired and hungry he was—and how _cold_. Of course he had been _acutely aware_ of the cold as he and Puck had ridden up and down the Coerthas central highlands, chasing down highwaymen and doing whatever else might earn them goodwill enough to access the records they needed; his clothes had turned out to be inadequate for the climate, and he had felt every blistering gust of icy wind down to his very bones. But after a certain point, one becomes inured to discomfort; and in this case, the cold had eventually become a simple, unpleasant fact of Dietrich’s life and faded away into the background.

But now that he was inside with the radiant warmth of the fire pressing in on him, he felt the cold again as if for the first time—biting and sharp down through his skin. He shivered, and it took every ounce of will to stand there and maintain that neutral aspect; the impulse to clutch at his arms and hold onto his body heat was almost overwhelming. After some of the longest, most frustrating—and honestly, if including the wholesale slaughter of his colleagues, the most _traumatic_ —days of his life so far, Dietrich felt like he would have done anything to sit before that big hearth with a stiff drink.

But then he thought of Puck, and glanced to his left. Seemingly more _forthcoming_ about her feelings, she made no attempt to hide that she was cold, visibly shivering, rubbing her arms, and making a face. But that wasn’t quite fair; Dietrich knew for a fact that Puck was colder than he was, even if they hadn’t compared notes about it. Puck had the unfortunate distinction of being possibly the _smallest_ adult Lalafel Dietrich had ever seen in his life, and at multiple points that day, the snow that had only come up to his calves had swallowed most of her lower half. It wouldn’t do to have her going around in snow-damp clothes longer than necessary; they would have to find someplace to make camp when this was over.

Or perhaps Lord Haurchefant would be so generous as to let them stay at Camp Dragonhead—but amiable though he was, Dietrich was disinclined to assume too much of Ishgardian hospitality, lest he end up disappointed for it.

And on that note: he hoped Alphinaud and Cid had been able to negotiate their own lodgings for the night. But then again, between Alphinaud’s gift for _diplomacy_ and Dietrich’s _absence_ —no; Dietrich had no doubts about their safety or comfort.

Dietrich watched Lord Haurchefant’s face as his eyes finally reached the bottom of the page, by then his brow furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. Back at the Observatorium, when Alphinaud had strongly suggested that _he_ be the one to parley with Lord Francel, he had not misunderstood where his and Dietrich’s strengths lay—although the accuracy of his assessment hadn’t stopped Dietrich from taking offense at being talked down to by a literal _child_ , regardless. For although Dietrich had never once _worried_ about doing or saying the wrong thing, he was acutely aware that he often _did_ —but he had never once regretted it. Even though he had arguably made things worse by getting into a shouting match with the Chief Astrologian, Dietrich didn’t regret a word of what he’d said. Every lacerating point he’d made about the old man’s bullheaded stubbornness, his fallacious reasoning, and his flimsy platitudes about Ishgard’s strength and Halone’s fictitious protection had been _true_ ; and if they had taken him at his word and left Garuda to lead the Ixal down that mountain, and good men and women had died or been taken into her thrall, he would have deserved every one of them—and _then some_ , in Dietrich’s estimation.

But none of his wits, his education and rhetorical gifts, or his own forceful personality or earnest convictions qualified him more for negotiating with the Ishgardians than Alphinaud, who possessed all of these same traits, but _without_ Dietrich’s hot temper—and Dietrich knew that. But he had his pride; and so it had been with some smug satisfaction that he had hefted himself into the saddle behind Puck and challenged the boy to _negotiate_ himself a bird if he wanted to join them at Skyfire Locks so badly.

It had not been his most _mature_ moment, Dietrich would readily admit; but the relief he’d felt as he and Puck had ridden off alone had been so sweet. Within the past week, all of Dietrich’s colleagues had been murdered by Garleans after _his_ blood, and before the threat of Garuda had demanded his attention, he had been seriously considering whether he would be endangering the lives of others if he remained in Eorzea, and whether he was obliged to give up his research and return to Sharlayan. And as if processing all of that hadn’t been taxing enough, now he had a self-important teenager—who _clearly_ fancied himself the smartest man among them—tut-tutting at him and trying to order him around like Dietrich wasn’t a scholar, a trained chirurgeon, the slayer of _two_ primals, and _a grown man_.

But as Lord Haurchefant took a breath to speak, Dietrich’s mind felt calm and clear, and he resolved to keep it that way—no matter the answer he received. If he needed to _negotiate_ with Lord Haurchefant, he was going to do it in an _even tone_ and he was not going to let himself be provoked by whatever insane Ishgardian-isms came out of the knight's mouth.

He was _not_ going to suffer the embarrassment of rejoining Alphinaud and Cid only to admit to that smug little brat that he had cocked up the job he’d snatched for himself.

“If there is any justice in this world, these charges will receive no serious consideration,” sighed Lord Haurchefant, more to himself than to Dietrich and Puck. He closed his eyes, face pinching tighter with consternation. “It is beyond inconceivable… Ah—but the Observatorium.” His eyes snapped open again and he smoothed the creases out of his face as he looked between them once more. “If I may, what is your specific interest in its records?”

“We are looking for a downed airship, called _The Enterprise_ ,” explained Dietrich coolly. “It should have come down over Coerthas during the Calamity, and we expect the Observatorium made record of its general trajectory. With any luck”— _luck_ , in this case, referring mostly to whether or not they ever got to _see_ the damned things—”we should be able to calculate her final resting place.”

Lord Haurchefant paused to think. “Aye—and it comes as no surprise the astrologians were reluctant to cooperate.” His eyes flicked back to Dietrich, focusing squarely on his. “Since you come on the recommendation of a dear friend, I would be happy to oblige you and lend the influence of House Fortemps to your petition.”

Dietrich bit back the impulse to balk openly, but he could not help but blink in surprise. “So easily, my lord?”

Lord Haurchefant smiled at him, his eyes glinting warmly with both genuine humor and something knowing. “A pleasant surprise after your time at the Observatorium, I expect?”

This observation was embarrassingly accurate; Dietrich stiffened, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes from behind his delicate, silver pince-nez. “Forgive me for being so frank.” Truly, the long day must have been getting to him.

But Lord Haurchefant just laughed. “Not at all! If you’ll remember, I already said that I do not stand on formality.” Here, he offered Dietrich a little, sympathetic smile. “And I am well aware of how inhospitable my countrymen—for all their other virtues—can be to foreigners.”

Again, Dietrich wasn’t entirely sure how to respond; he settled for another polite nod of his head, once more ignoring Lord Haurchefant’s invitation to relax his manners. “Perhaps so—and with that in mind, I was wondering if I might ask one additional favor?”

“Of course!”

“Unfortunately, we may have made a somewhat… _unflattering_ impression on the Chief Astrologian earlier today,” said Dietrich, glossing over _which_ one of them had done it—despite the chuckle he heard from Puck. “I fear he may have reason to reject our petition, regardless of the endorsement of Houses Fortemps and Haillenarte. To that end, I was wondering if we might explore additional options for locating the _Enterprise_.”

“Oh?” Lord Haurchefant leaned forward on his desk. “What did you have in mind, Master Dietrich?”

“I am told that the _Enterprise_ is a somewhat sizable vessel,” explained Dietrich. “I would be surprised if it managed to come down wholly unnoticed—even despite the Calamity. It is my hope that perhaps a witness could be found to point us in the right direction, should Master Forlemort remain…” He took a breath. “ _Unmoved_.”

Lord Haurchefant paused to think, lifting his hand to his chin, brows furrowing again. “I see the sense in it, although it may prove difficult to _find_ any such witnesses.” He glanced back at Dietrich. “The Calamity besides, we were embroiled in our own conflicts at the time.” But then he sighed, his features relaxed, and he set his hand down again on his desk. “But nevertheless, I will make inquiries on your behalf,” he said with another little smile. “Should I find anything, I will let you know.”

“Ah,” breathed Dietrich, again surprised by the ease with which Lord Haurchefant agreed to his request. He pressed his hand to his chest and offered the knight another polite little bow. “You have our most earnest thanks, Lord Haurchefant.” As he straightened back up, he could feel the unconscious change in his posture—he felt lighter and looser as an unconscious tension bled out of him. His eyes even felt brighter as he fixed them again on Lord Haurchefant’s face, his chest swollen with the pleasant warmth of long-awaited and _surprisingly good_ news. “In the meantime, perhaps there is something Puck and I can do to assist—”

“Hey, guys?” piped Puck, who had been both patiently and _blessedly_ quiet since their arrival. “I’m sorry to interrupt; I know this is super important, but I’m freezing my ass— I’m freezing.” As if to prove her point, a shiver rocketed up her tiny body. “And I bet that goes for you, too, Dietrich.” As if to punctuate _this_ point, she reached out to lightly poke his tail, which was puffed with the cold and snapped away from her as soon as she made contact. “Could y’all maybe… take this over by the fire, or something?”

Dietrich turned in her direction, eyes snapping to her face—he had forgotten about Puck entirely! “Puck, forgive me,” he said, a subtle note of genuine contrition coloring his tone. “How are you faring?”

“W-well, I’m doin’ all right,” she mumbled, suddenly shying away at his attention, as well as Lord Haurchefant’s. “Just a lil’ _coldy_ , you know? Long day out in the wind…”

“Aye, and I expect your clothes have had little time to dry since earlier today,” agreed Dietrich without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re like to catch a chill, at this rate.”

“And my apologies, as well,” said Lord Haurchefant, his own brows bending in sympathy. He set his hands on his desk and pushed himself to his feet, rising to tower over them both. “I have been remiss, keeping the two of you standing here when you’re so fresh from the road. And you are, of course, both welcome to stay here until your business has been resolved.” He bumped his fist against his heart and flashed them a smile, so warm and inviting it nearly put the blaze in that big hearth to shame. “You will be guests of House Fortemps for as long as you need, and afforded every courtesy.”

Again, Dietrich turned back to Lord Haurchefant, blinking stupidly at him. It was as if the man was going out of his way to dispel every ungenerous expectation Dietrich had had for this encounter. “That would be… very kind of you, my lord,” he said politely. “If it truly would not be such an imposition, we would gladly accept your invitation.”

But Lord Haurchefant just laughed. “It’s no imposition at all! After all, we do not often receive guests here, and again, I am grateful for the service you offered Lord Francel—it only seems fair to repay it in kind.”

And Dietrich was relieved to hear that. With another polite dip of his head, he said, “Thank you for your generosity.”

Lord Haurchefant smiled at him, so warm and bright that it squeezed shut his eyes. “Ah, but enough niceties,” he said, again attempting to wave them away with his hand. “Let us get you two sat by the fire!”

He circled around his desk and gestured for Dietrich and Puck to follow him to the hearth. Puck had to walk double-time to keep pace with him, but even Dietrich had to move quickly to match Lord Haurchefant’s long stride. It made logical sense to handle their business first, but Dietrich still scolded himself for neglecting his companion; if Puck didn’t have a chill yet, it would be a miracle.

Still, she had a better sense for these things than he did, by virtue of her Echo. Based on how she had described it to him, he expected that she felt comfortable interrupting negotiations because she sensed that Lord Haurchefant felt positively enough that she could safely derail their conversation. For as useless as Puck’s _visions_ may have been, Dietrich thought her Echo the more broadly useful of the two. His visions—overwhelmingly of the dead, but occasionally of those yet living, seemingly without rhyme or reason for the change in pattern—were often interesting or informative, but none of them surpassed the simple functionality of being able to sense the emotions of others. But then again, on the road to the Observatorium, Puck had been struck by a vision of Cid—then, still Marques—doing nothing but chores for four hours.

Regardless, Dietrich was glad she had interrupted them, instead of just letting them stand there while she shivered.

Lord Haurchefant dragged two chairs over from his war table to place by the fire, and sent a nearby knight to awake the cook to prepare something warm for their guests, and then on to prepare them space in the barracks. “Again, we haven’t often guests here,” he explained with an apologetic little smile.

But Dietrich just shook his head. “No, it is more than enough for us; thank you.” Then, he turned to Puck: “Please remove as much of your damp clothing as you can. I will go make sure your bird is properly stabled.”

Puck glanced up at him from her place beside one of the chairs, comically large for a Lalafel, especially one her size. “Oh. Thank you, Dietrich,” she said softly, as if surprised by his consideration.

“Aye, and I shall go fetch you both something warm to wrap up in, instead,” volunteered Lord Haurchefant.

Dietrich stepped away from the hearth and headed for the main door, leading out onto the parade grounds, with Lord Haurchefant nearly walking beside him for a time. As their paths began to diverge, Dietrich glanced in his direction. “Thank you again for your hospitality and your generous offer of assistance,” he repeated, brow furrowing with the weight of his sincerity. It was an immediate relief to have a warm place to sleep, but even more so to finally have a way towards completing their actual task—and it was not lost on him how truly _lucky_ they were to have been introduced to someone so _amiable_ as Lord Haurchefant.

Lord Haurchefant turned to him and flashed him another one of those warm smiles. “Think nothing of it! Ah, but one more question, before I leave you to your rest,” he added, as if remembering himself. “For what reason do you need the airship?”

Dietrich paused near the doorway, and Lord Haurchefant trailed to a stop beside him, his blue eyes alight with what Dietrich thought was curiosity. He supposed it _was_ a strange request; there were any number of reasons they might be after a downed airship, and most of them sounded like they could make for interesting stories. Dietrich didn’t know the man, but from the unseasonably warm welcome he had given them, Dietrich suspected that interesting stories from foreign visitors were something of a rare delight. “Our engineer will repair it, and we will fly it to Natalan,” explained Dietrich. The thought of flying _any_ airship into Garuda’s gale made him feel queasy—to say nothing of the frozen, reanimated corpse that was _actually_ going to make the flight. But that was a problem for later, and Dietrich put it out of his mind, for the moment. “The Ixal have summoned their god, and we intend to put her down.”

At this, Lord Haurchefant blinked in surprise, and the look in his eyes intensified as he focused closely on Dietrich. “Truly? You say it with such confidence, Master Dietrich. Forgive me, but I had assumed you to be a scholar…”

“As I am,” said Dietrich quickly. “But my skill set extends beyond books and learning, and I have been fortunate enough to fell primals before now—and Puck, as well. As long as we can arrive before Garuda marches on either of her neighbors, there is even the possibility of resolving this with minimal losses.” The Ixal did not deserve to be enslaved to their god for the crime of desperation; but if they could reach Natalan before the Ixal were war-ready, then at least the only casualties would be those who summoned her to begin with.

But Lord Haurchefant looked fascinated by the idea. “So easily, then?”

Dietrich closed his eyes a moment and bounced his eyebrows in something almost like resignation. “I would not call it _easy_ , my lord,” he grumbled. When Dietrich opened his eyes again, he fixed them squarely on Lord Haurchefant’s. “But easy or no, it must be done—and so it will be.”

Lord Haurchefant held his gaze, and a fresh smile broke his features; somehow, this one was the most radiant so far, between the warmth of his smile and the curious glitter in his eyes. “How splendid,” he said. “A sentiment fit for a hero, I believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written long fanfic, so please send me strength. [@vurororo](https://twitter.com/Vurororo) is playing FF14 through with me on their alt, so as Dietrich's eternal companion, Puck must needs appear in the story
> 
> I'm using "Dr." for Dietrich's title, because as far as I can tell, we've never seen a chirurgeon addressed with a title; I know various Studium people get addressed as "Archon," but I don't know if that's just an academic designation or what. If any of you loreheads out there know the answer, lmk


End file.
